


(you're as) Cold as Ice

by Herricane



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: 2 am confidence burst, Bucky is The City, Gen, HC: nick thinks of peggy as a lowkey mom but he wont admit it unless his 4 shots in, S.H.I.E.L.D - Freeform, Winter, and also to write sad metaphors about gay nonagenarians, do not let the tags deceive u, i love Margaret Carter, nature metaphor, ok whatever, screams quietly into the void, some paths cross and never stop crossing even if we fail to realize, this fic isnt super fun times, this fic was just an excuse to swoon over pegs tbh, this is short-ish story wise, what do I tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 02:08:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14274624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herricane/pseuds/Herricane
Summary: Director Peggy Carter has been head of S.H.I.E.L.D since it's founding and an Agent even longer and she's proud to say her record is immaculate.Well, almost.or: in which there are things peggy doesn't, won't ever know for certain, and the Winter Soldier is one bad fuckin penny.





	(you're as) Cold as Ice

**Author's Note:**

> oh no god did she really name her fic after a foriegner songY E S  
> YES SHE DID 
> 
>  
> 
> eh ok whteever its 2;40 am and im only posting this bc why not right? pre-witching hour confidence i guess hahahaha a 
> 
> well if u made it this far i already love u and i hope u enjoy!! 
> 
> also an ENORMOUS shoutout to my MOTHER and loveliest friend teags aka schuywalkers go check her out she's flippin amazing 
> 
> without further ado

Director Peggy Carter is nursing a whiskey, neat, and the beginnings of a particularly offensive migraine. 

 

The sunlight streaming into her office feels less like harmless UV rays and more like a deadly, highly concentrated sun-powered super laser boring directly into Peggy’s skull. She considers the detail of this simile and notes that perhaps she has spent too much of her life around Howard’s lab. Very Likely.  She also considers closing her office blinds but quickly dismisses the idea, (Not Likely at All) for requiring things like  _ getting up _ , and  _ actual movement _ , and settles instead for fumbling around her desk drawer in search of her near-empty bottle of painkillers and repurposing the file she’s supposed to be reviewing as a makeshift sunshade. 

 

Agent Fury knocks in the middle of Peggy fumbling one handed with the bottle’s safety cap. She starts (only because of her impaired state, naturally) and winds up loosing the bottle, scattering little white pills all across her immaculate desk, but at least the blasted thing is open now. “Come in,” she calls to him, sounding entirely as haggard as she feels. 

 

“Director,” Fury addresses her. His voice, cool and deferential, does nothing to hide the spark of mirth in his eyes as he assesses Peggy’s state.

 

Peggy likes Agent Fury. Nick, as she had known him in his youth and as he insists she refer to him on the very rare occasion she attends after-work drinks, is an excellent agent, the ideal SHIELD operative. Peggy should know, she’s groomed him herself; watched him soar through the ranks and rise in clearance level as steadily as the building’s freight elevator. On occasion, Peggy does enjoy to toot her own horn as Mr. Jarvis might say, and she is rather proud of the agent Nick Fury has become. 

 

“Migraine?” he asks, eyeing the pills and the folder and Peggy’s aptly disgruntled disposition. 

 

“Genetically predisposed, I’m afraid.” She quips in return, “But you haven’t come to make queries about my mental health, Agent, or you’d be setting up post outside my office.” 

 

The invitation (or rather, command) to speak is implicit, Fury resolves the silence appropriately:    
“I’ll have to apologize in advance, Director. Your headache is about to get a lot worse.”

 

He’s not lying. The file he drops on her desk (sending pills skittering off the edges and into framed photographs) is a headache all on its own, on top of her current state, it feels like a nightmare. She’s careful to let none of this show as she drops the miscellaneous file she’d been holding against the sun and moves both hands to page gingerly through the manila folder, far too full for the minimal results it’s actively produced in her professional opinion. 

 

The file has just begun to spot with age, not unlike the hands that snap it shut; Peggy’s own.

 

Her voice is measured when she speaks, “How many is that so far  _ this  _ year?” 

 

“Three.” It’s march. 

 

“Ah,” 

 

“Two in January, plus this.” 

 

“I see.” It’s March  _ 2nd _ . 

 

“Not including the attempt in October that’s— ” 

 

“Four major faces in global politics and one of the world’s leading biochemists in the past six months, yes.”

 

“...This is a period of activity longer than any recorded since we began keeping track,” Fury nods to the file, “should we not start considering — ” 

 

Peggy snaps the file shut, “I refuse to lose another president to this—this fiend, Agent Fury.” 

 

“I understand, Director Carter. That’s why I’m suggesting—”  

 

“But I  _ also  _ refuse to be the root source behind another mass hysteria. Strategic Homeland Intervention, Agent Fury, it is our duty to this country to neutralize any threat to its safety and to do so  _ quietly _ .” She takes a deep breath, and then a deep pull from her tumbler, and sits back in her chair, the old leather squeaking underneath her. 

 

She counts backward from ten in German, swirls the amber liquid around her glass, attempting to reign in her composure from wherever it had scampered off to. 

 

Fury stands, stoic as ever, awaiting orders.

(she allows herself the momentary thrill of pride).

 

“Too many years,” she says after a minute has ticked away in silence. “Too many years we’ve been haunted by this particular ghost. Arm our men with holy water, hire an exorcist if you must, do whatever is necessary short of lighting the house aflame. But we need results.” 

 

She does not ask him if he understands, she does not need to. He would not be delivering this news to her if he did not. 

 

“Of course, director.” He hesitates, “But I won’t make any promises.” 

 

“I should expect not,” Peggy scoffs, setting her glass down and beginning to sweep up the pills, “This is the Winter Soldier, after all.” 

 

Fury smiles, it’s a minuscule thing, but an acquiescence all the same. He starts to exit but stops at the door, turning back towards Peggy, “You know, I’m no doctor, but I’m fairly certain painkillers and whiskey don’t mix.” 

 

The corner of Peggy’s mouth turns up without her volition. “Like oil and water, my dear.” 

 

“Just how you like it, or so I’m told.” 

 

“Is that my reputation around the office? Human oil spill?” Peggy lifts a finely manicured eyebrow. 

 

“More Cold as ice, Miss Carter. But since when have you cared about reputation?” 

 

“Touché,” she says, and with a nod, Fury is gone. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


By now the sun has set far enough as to be blessedly obscured by the New York skyline, but Peggy gathers one, two, three of the pills and knocks them back dry, just to be safe.

 

_ Cold-as-ice Carter.  _

 

The temperature of her office has dropped a few good degrees now that the sun has begun its descent. It’s been a long winter.

 

In the corners of her windows, barely noticeable behind the blinds, frost has gathered. She traces it with her eyes, clinging to the glass like crystalline cobwebs, and thinks. 

 

She thinks of the Valkyrie lost somewhere in the frozen sea, she thinks of the alps and the sting of aged whiskey and bitter tears; she thinks of Steve. 

 

She takes a sip of her drink, musing. As the light in her office dims she spares a glance down at the file; a stubborn stain on her nearly immaculate record. She peels up the cover, scanning the photo clipped inside: Long dark hair, tactical gear, face entirely obscured. The Arm. 

 

Huffing out a breath, she lets the folder fall shut and turns again towards the window, watching pensively as the last vestiges of day, burning fierce and red somewhere on the horizon, succumb to the inevitability of night. 

 

Of course, come tomorrow morning the sun will return as if it had never left. Perhaps, it will finally melt the last dredges of unsightly grey snow. 

Or perhaps the chill will never leave New York, regardless of the sun. Perhaps this winter has, down to the very molecules of the air, perverted New York City so that the ice creeping in the corners of SHIELD’s windows may never thaw and the huddled masses in the parks will continue to huddle in a bid for warmth they will forever be just shy of until they forget what they were ever huddling for in the first place. 

So the air will stagnate in the cold until it cloaks the city, wraps it up like illness, like something that creeps into your bones, your lungs, your mind; something you can’t shake. And it’s busy people can layer their socks and coats and gloves, can light their fires and their boilers, and the sun can come and go and shineshineshine but it won’t make any difference. The best anyone can do is pray it won’t get any colder. 

 

She closes her eyes. 

 

_ Winter Soldier, indeed. _

**Author's Note:**

> HI IF YOU MADE IT DOWN HERE WOW YOU HAVE MY HEART im sad jarvis wasnt in this but also!!!!
> 
> i rly want to talk to ppl about this sO:  
> did peggy ever realize bucky was the soldier (while she was director)?? IF she did, did it matter?? what would she have done?? 
> 
> idk im phrasing this bithc like its a question for english class but seriously i just want to talk to u folks about it so leave me a cheeky comment if you feel so inclined!!!!
> 
> x


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